Simple Romance
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: Post-TEH, Pre-TSoT. Sherlock Holmes is heartbroken over Molly's engagement, but he has a plan of sorts to win her back, despite his unfamiliarity with sentiment and romantic notions. Comedy, Romance, and a touch of Angst.
1. Best Laid Plans

Mary watched them closely, observing their interactions; their body language. She had only heard Molly's name come up when Sherlock revealed to them that she had aided in helping him fake his death. Upon seeing the two of them in the same room together, Mary saw that it was as if they were magnets, consistently drawn to one another. Her fiancé was practically a cheap knockoff of Sherlock Holmes, but the puzzle pieces didn't click until Molly claimed to Greg that she had 'moved on.'

She knew Sherlock had seemed a bit agitated before Molly's arrival, and she figured it was because he truly didn't want to set eyes on the man who had her heart; the man that now made her happy. Yet, upon seeing Tom, he seemed surprised, but then relieved. Either Molly had a type or she truly wasn't over Sherlock. Mary assumed the latter. Only a couple weeks later did she get the confirmation she was looking for—at least on Sherlock's part.

**Mary, I think you better come 'round here. **

Upon entering 221B, the sight before her amused her greatly. John, attempting to concentrate on the case file Greg had dropped off for them, kept glaring daggers at Sherlock, who was pacing madly around the flat ranting about some person or other.

"They don't even live together for God's sakes!" Sherlock complained. "The man puts a ring on _my_ pathologist, and suddenly, I lose my favourite bolthole!"

"I don't think it's the bolthole you're angry about losing," Mary piped up, a knowing smile on her face.

"Mary, thank God." John sighed in relief. "Please tell him that he can't just break into Molly's place when he wants to. She wasn't there, and Tom had him sent back here; paid for the cab fare and everything."

"He doesn't even live there!" Sherlock snapped. "And I didn't break in—I used the key she gave me before I left London for two years. I have her permission to come and go as I please."

"Yes, you did; but that was before she got herself engaged," John argued. "Now, stop being a git, and leave it alone!"

"She won't"— he threw his phone at the sofa—"she hasn't even answered my texts."

"You're in love with her." Mary's words made both men stop in their tracks.

"No, he's not—"

"Yes, I am." Sherlock's voice softened then.

John scoffed in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that Sherlock Holmes is in love!?" He laughed, amused by the idea, but upon seeing his best friend's face, he realised that he wasn't joking. "Christ, Sherlock, when did this happen?"

"A little over two years ago," he admitted. "I had already been quite fond of her, but the fact that she was willing to put everything on the line to save my life—even if I had been a fraud—that was when I knew."

"Why didn't you ever tell her?" Mary asked.

"I thought it a bit rude to tell her before I had to leave, not knowing when I'd be back," Sherlock explained. "I could never be so selfish to ask her to put her life on hold for me. A part of my hoped time would stand still whilst I was away, but it didn't, and I'm paying the price for it."

"She's not married yet, mate," John pointed out. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he replied forlornly. "I really hate not knowing."

* * *

The subject wasn't broached again until a couple of days later whilst Sherlock was in the lab working on an experiment. John was present as well, but was being ignored in favor of the microscope Sherlock was currently looking through.

"Why don't you try a gift?" John suggested. "Something posh to woo her."

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, John? Something posh?" He lifted his head away from the microscope to look at him. "Molly isn't materialistic, she's—well, more of a sentimentalist, a romantic."

"Two departments you've no knowledge in," John pointed out.

"Au contraire, I may not be familiar with expressing myself in such ways, but that does not mean I can't," Sherlock defended himself. "By the time I'm done, she'll be swept off—oof!" Upon seeing Molly enter the room, Sherlock had slipped off the stool in his effort to stand up.

"Oh my goodness!" Molly exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

Stifling a laugh, John kneeled down beside his friend, speaking quietly. "I think you're the one swept off your feet, mate."

* * *

**Author's Note:** A bumpy beginning, but I think Sherlock will find his feet eventually :p


	2. Holmes and Hooper

When Molly clocked in the next morning, Mike informed her that a small parcel had been left in her office. Curiosity got the best of her, so the first thing she did was see who it was from. There wasn't any indication of the sender until she opened it up. There, atop a couple of bags of her favourite sweets, a note lay waiting to be read.

_I thought you'd like a pick-me-up for the day. Hope it makes you smile. –SH_

"What am I going to do with you?" she muttered to herself, unable to keep the smile off her face. She'd had a bit of shit morning already, having gotten in a row with Tom over the phone. They had different ideas about when the wedding should be. He felt it should be sooner rather than later, but Molly didn't want to rush into it. She hadn't a clue why—Molly had been waiting for this time in her life for a long time, so why was she suddenly not in a hurry to jump right in?

Jellybabies and winegums were her favourites—Sherlock knew that, so why didn't Tom? She laughed in disbelief at the situation she found herself in. It was awfully funny that a man who finds facts like that trivial to keep note of it anyways. She'd be lying if she said she didn't love him, because oh she did, and always would. Overall, she was happy with Tom; happier than she thought she'd ever be. But then a line from that Sheryl Crowe song played in her mind: _If it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?_

Why, indeed.

* * *

"How's it going with Molly?" Mary asked, lounging on the sofa in 221B. She took a bit of the apple she had been munching on for the past ten minutes.

"Well, I dropped off a parcel in her office before she arrived at work, and I'm waiting to see what comes of it." Sherlock flipped through the book in his hands. "Slow day for clients too; doesn't show much promise for anything interesting."

"Or does it just not show any promise of you heading to the hospital today?" Mary teased. It was her day off from the surgery, but John still had a couple of appointments for the day. She figured she'd hang around Baker Street to get her kicks. Sherlock ignored her remark in favor of his mobile. A smile lit up his face for a moment. "Good news?"

"Molly texted," he explained.

"And?" Mary encouraged.

"It did make her smile," he replied. "At least that's what she told me. I think I might be onto something." Sherlock thought back on the many times his father had seemingly made his mum fall in love with him several times over. Perhaps he was a natural at these romantic entanglements after all.

"Sherlock, we may need your help on this one." Lestrade burst into the sitting room. "How do you feel about murderous ghosts?"

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock knocked on the door of Molly's office. He could hear Tom within the room as well, making him groan in frustration. The door swung open, and there she stood in front of him, all smiles and sunshine. "Oh, hello, Sherlock," she greeted him. "Is everything alright? Come in." The invitation made Sherlock flash a smug look toward Tom, who looked quite cross with him.

"Yes, just fine; I was hoping you could help me out with a case Lestrade had just given to me," Sherlock replied, following her inside. He immediately noticed the fairy cakes that had been brought to her by Tom, sitting untouched on her desk. Funny, since being her fiancé, Tom should know that Molly isn't fond of fairy cakes. Her true downfall was those jellybabies he's seen her buy from the vending machine at Bart's on several occasions.

"Have you been to the crime scene yet?" she asked, smoothing her jumper.

"Ah, no, I stopped by here to see if you'd like to come along. I'd appreciate to know your take away from it. Apparently there's a ghost involved, not that I believe in such things." Sherlock smirked as she suddenly gave him her full, undivided attention. Molly loved the idea of the supernatural, and he knew this case would be right up her alley.

"Let me grab my coat from the locker room, I'll be right there," she smiled, enthusiasm radiating off her.

"But, Molly, I thought we were going to have lunch today," Tom complained.

"This is part of my job. We can do it tomorrow!" she called back at him from the hallway. Tom glared at the consulting detective, but quickly straightened up at Molly's reappearance moments later. "Besides, the game is on!"

"Right you are!" Sherlock grinned, exiting the room with her.

* * *

Upon arrival, Molly took in the old Victorian home. It looked as if it were in the process of being fixed up by the owners who bought it just a few months ago. Only one owner remained now.

"So, what exactly happened?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"Well, Mrs. Cunningham took quite a fall, she did. She fell over the balcony, taking the old rail with her," he explained. "It's quite the accident it seems. She kept making claims of having seen a ghost which sent her over in the end."

"This was murder," Sherlock stated.

"I figured you'd say as much, but how? The wood is shown to be rotting, which is a plausible explanation," Lestrade pointed out.

"Someone could've loosened the nails," Molly suggested. "According to the statement from the real estate agent, the structure was quite solid before they began fixing it up."

Sherlock smiled proudly at her. His Molly was so clever. "And this ghost? Where does it come in?"

"Well, her husband had told us she saw this young woman in the greenhouse one day, and later, found the woman's photo in his findings of a tragedy that happened here. Apparently, she had been brutally murdered by her husband decades ago," Lestrade explained, handing them the printed article. The woman pictured had fine blonde hair, her face containing elongated features.

"Fascinating," Molly remarked. "May I?" she nodded at the body lying there.

"Be my guest; that goes for you too, Sherlock."

Together, he and Molly looked for any possible signs of foul play having happened before she fell.

"Sherlock, take a look at this." Molly gestured to the woman's left arm. He took note of the cut that had clearly been made before she died.

"Interesting," he remarked. "Did she have a good life insurance policy?"

"You're thinking the husband did it?" Lestrade ran a hand through his hair. "The two never had issues in the seven years they were married."

"In cases like these, it usually is," Sherlock replied. "You must always watch out for the ones who seem perfect, for they are always hiding a darker side." He was looking at Molly when he said it, thinking of how too perfect Tom seemed to be in her eyes, but Sherlock knew better. He didn't trust the man with her. That wasn't to say he was a murderer, but there was definitely something dark inside him.

"How do you explain the ghost?" Lestrade asked.

"I don't know yet, but I'll get back to you when I figure it out." Sherlock looked around for the ambulance, spotting it across the street. "Is Mr. Cunningham in there?"

"He is; we haven't been able to get much out of him as he's had a shock," Lestrade replied.

"Shock," Molly scoffed. "If you're right about him, I say he hired someone to act as a ghost to scare her over the railing."

"Intriguing theory, Molly, let's revisit it a bit later; you may be onto something." Sherlock had gotten his chance to show off for her once before, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed with how little he had to show this time. But, oh, he loved it when she was unknowingly clever. He was certain that Molly Hooper could beat him in a battle of wits without even trying. His eyes shifted to her hair, tied up into a sophisticated bun. How many times had he imagined pulling her hair free from its restraints, just to brush his fingers through it? "Focus," he scolded himself.

"What was that?" Molly asked.

"Um, your brain is really focused today." What in the hell had he just said? Smooth move, Holmes. The look she gave him in response was a mix of confusion and amusement. Wonderful. "Ah, Mr. Cunningham, do you think you're ready to tell us what you know to be true?"

"Yes, I—I think I can," he stumbled out, shrugging off the shock blanket around his shoulders. "For the past few days, ever since I found information on the tragic past of this house, Lindsey had been convinced the woman she met in the greenhouse here was the ghost of the murdered wife. I told her ghosts weren't real, but she began hallucinating."

"What kind of hallucinations?" Molly asked, captivated by the strange case.

"Well, she claimed hearing the sound of someone scratching at out bedroom door, and sometimes she'd hear the sound of knives scraping. I never heard a thing. I offered to get her some help, but she wouldn't listen." Mr. Cunningham's voice was shaky as he told his story, as if he wasn't quite convinced of it himself.

"Give us a moment." Sherlock pulled Molly aside. "I don't doubt that his wife heard these sounds, do you?"

"No, not at all; what are you thinking?" she asked. He was so close to her that she had to tell herself to calm down. Why did he have such an enticing effect on her? For God's sakes, she could smell the mixture of cinnamon, cloves, wood smoke, and a hint of sweet tobacco on him. It was highly intoxicating. All the times he had spent the night in her flat, hiding away from the world, she had wanted to curl up against him just once; she still wanted to.

"I'm thinking a look inside the house is imperative. We'll have to have Lestrade let us in." Sherlock strode toward the doorway where Greg stood, getting the approval to head inside. Molly followed after, volunteering to search downstairs whilst Sherlock went up to search the bedrooms. She looked in the kitchen first, with the knives in mind. They could possibly take finger prints to compare them with the husband's. She'd bring it up with Greg to see what he thought.

It wasn't much longer until the sound of a phone ringing caught her attention. Molly walked toward the stairway where Sherlock held out a phone to her. The contact calling came up as 'Caroline Smith' with a photo of a blonde woman with elongated features.

"That's—"

"—the supposed murdered wife from decades ago? Yes, I believe I've already solved it," Sherlock smirked, heading straight towards Lestrade. "Arrest that man, and find this woman." He handed the phone over to the DI. Mrs. Cunningham's husband was now currently present with the rest of the police.

"You've solved it!?"

"Of course I've solved it; Mr. Cunningham was having an affair with Miss Caroline Smith, who he asked to spook his wife with the intention of sending her to an asylum. Quite easily, he imposed her photo within the article to leave lying around for his wife to find, making her believe she had seen a ghost the day they moved in. Am I getting this right, Mr. Cunningham?" Sherlock stared him down.

"Yes, I had an affair, and I asked that of her, but I didn't send her over the edge!" Mr. Cunningham argued.

"You may not have, but you did loosen the nails just enough to give way to her weight against the railing; I'm entirely certain that murder was in your agenda from the very beginning," Sherlock snapped at him.

"Impressive," Molly remarked. The last thing she needed to do was fluff his ego, but she couldn't help herself.

"Elementary; fancy some chips?" Sherlock waited for her response with bated breath, knowing she had flat out ignored his request the last time he had asked.

"Love some," she replied, no longer caring to hide her pleased smiles from him. They were just a couple friends going out for chips after a case…right?

* * *

**Author's Note:** After 2-3 rewrites, and a beta reader (thanks Dreamin!), I feel good about this chapter. How'd y'all like the case?


	3. Tip-Toeing

In a cosy corner booth in a fish and chip shoppe on Marylebone road, sat Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. It was just the way he had intended when he asked her the first time. Yes, things were looking up. He was sure he'd woo her back into his arms in no time—not that she had ever been officially his before, but it felt as such.

"Amazing chips and good conversation," Molly remarked. "A perfect lunch if you ask me."

"I did tell you it was fantastic here," Sherlock pointed out, popping another chip in his mouth. _Pupils dilated_, he noted. _The desire is still there_.

"It's despicable what that man did; murdering his wife, and all because he was unfaithful." Molly scrunched her face in disgust. "I'd never do such a thing."

"Murder or infidelity?" Sherlock asked. His mouth quirked into a crooked smile.

"Neither," she answered, laughing, "Though with murder, I have been tempted."

"Haven't we all?" Sherlock chuckled. "I would never commit adultery. It is disgustingly common in this age." So, what exactly was he encouraging her to do? Realising the error of his ways, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He should've just told her from the beginning instead of attempting to make her stray.

Molly nervously ate at her chips, trying to figure out the sickening feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't rocket science by any means, but she didn't want to admit it either. Wasn't she doing what she had just said she'd never do? Instead of having lunch with her fiancé, she was having lunch with Sherlock, a man she had been in love with for so long. She had given up the ghost when he left London, so why now? Why when she's got a wedding to plan? A wedding she had been trying to put off for some time now.

Her breathing felt shallow, the air thinning around her—or maybe she was just imagining it. The room suddenly felt hot, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach grew into nausea. Quickly, she slid out of the booth, a look of panic on her face.

Sherlock stood, high on alert. "Molly? What's wrong?"

"What are we doing, Sherlock?" she found herself asking. He may view her as just a friend, but she kept pretending it was more than that. "This isn't right. I have a fiancé who I was supposed to have lunch with today; not you." Her eyes scanned the room, her hand covering her mouth in disbelief. "I can't do this with you."

"I don't understand; Molly, we're just friends having lunch," Sherlock told her. "It's not unusual for you to have lunch with John or Mary."

"This is different," she argued.

"How?" He knew how, but he wanted to hear her say the words he was too afraid speak.

"It just is, Sherlock. I can't, okay? This was a mistake. Thank you for lunch though; it was nice of you to pay." With that said, Molly turned and left the shoppe. That cosy corner booth now felt dark and lonely as Sherlock observed the mess he had made. He saw her climb into a cab, tears blurring his vision. Sherlock Holmes watched as his whole world slipped through his fingers.

* * *

He had been at it for days; composing the most haunting melody on his violin. John knew the signs of Sherlock being heartbroken.

"Sherlock, what happened?" John asked him. Mary sat on the arm of the chair he sat in.

"The game is over, John." Sherlock set his violin down before plopping down on the sofa. "Not that it was a game, but I missed my chance. It's time I accept it."

"I don't understand," Mary piped up. "I thought it was going well."

"It was, but I should respectfully step aside. The last thing I want is for this to end in a mess, so I'm no longer putting my cards on the table." Sherlock turned away, ignoring the whispers of his friends. From here on out, he would keep things strictly professional. Molly Hooper was going to be Mrs. Tom what's-his-name. _Sometimes_, he realised, _love isn't enough_.

* * *

"Murder scenes?" she turned towards Sherlock. "Locations of…murders?" It had been a couple of months since she last saw him, and her heart still pounded furiously in her chest when he was near. She had missed him terribly.

"Mmm, pub crawl-themed," he explained, leaning back on his feet a bit.

"Yeah, but why can't you just do Underground stations?"

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he replied, "Lacks the personal touch. We're going to go for a drink in every street where we—"

"—every street where you found a corpse. Delightful! Where do I come in?" She was finishing his sentences now. His heart ached knowing that the one person who understood him the most would never choose him. Perhaps it was the best path for her to take. Tom wasn't all that bad in retrospect, though a bit boring. If Molly wanted a simple, mundane life, then she'd get exactly that with her betrothed.

"Don't want to get ill. It would spoil the mood." _This conversation is spoiling the mood_, he thought.

"You're a graduate chemist; can't you just work it out?" She knew he didn't need her help. He could easily figure this out on his own. The wistful gleam in his eyes told her he had missed her too. Deep down, Molly knew the truth; she knew that he felt _something_ for her. It was more than friendship. Something had changed between them ever since he put his life in her hands.

"I lack the practical experience," he smiled.

"…meaning you think I like a drink."

"Occasionally."

"That I'm a drunk." Okay, so, maybe she was wrong.

Quickly, he protested, "No. No!"

The room fell into a heavy silence. The tension in the air was so thick, Molly could cut it with her scalpel. She couldn't think of anything to say, twisting the engagement ring on her finger, feeling heavier with each day that went by. Funny how silence could be louder than words, especially when there were so many things left unsaid that would never be spoken. _I love you_. God, she wanted to shout it from the very rooftop he jumped off of.

Sherlock steadied his breathing before breaking the ice. "You look…well." She was glowing; the most beautiful woman he had ever known, inside and out.

"I am," she fibbed, giving him a half smile to convince him.

"How's…"—looking off to the side, he pretended as if he couldn't even recall the name of that thick fiancé of hers—"…Tom?"

"Not a sociopath," Molly quipped.

"Still? Good." Sherlock never thought he'd rue the day he decided to label himself as such.

Curious about what his reaction would be, she added, "And we're having quite a lot of sex." She and Tom were not, in fact, having any sex at all. Molly found herself coming up with excuses to avoid it. There just wasn't a spark between them. Sure, they got along just fine, but there was no fire. Where was the passion, the all-consuming love she always dreamt of having?

He said nothing, looking from the floor, to the walls, then, "…okay."

Molly smiled to herself, knowing from his reaction she may have hit a nerve. _Then bloody do something about it_.

* * *

John Watson sat on the floor of the holding cell, ready to pass out at any moment. Sherlock was pacing like a mad man muttering to himself. He eventually turned towards the bed, and plopped down, burying his head in his hands.

"Juss—jus call her, mate," John slurred.

Sherlock's head flew up so fast, he was lucky his neck didn't snap. "That's brilliant!" He began phoning her, getting antsy for her to pick up.

"Hullo?" her voice croaked. "Sherlock? Is everything alright?"

"Molly. Mol-leeee." He loved saying her name. "Di-did you know I lurve to dance, Molleee?"

"Um, no, I-I can't say I did," Molly stifled a laugh. He was drunk off his arse, and she knew she probably had John Watson to thank for it.

"Could take you to a right proper—excuse me—a right proper ball." His words were clumsy, unable to articulate a thorough thought. "You've got lovely legs."

Molly's raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Sherlock, I think you should sober up before we speak again."

"I'm as sober as 'm gonna get," he told her. "Molly. Molly, lissen to me. I was juss wondering—"

"Sherlock, you need—" she spoke in unison with him.

"Oh, you're talking, never mind, sorry." His cheeks puffed in reaction to the nausea he still felt from earlier. His voice went softer then. "Molls?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"He doesn't love you like—"

Molly held the phone so tenderly, anticipating the rest of that sentence. "Like what, Sherlock?" Nothing. She could hear his steady breathing, followed by a clatter from the phone slipping out of his hand. When she was sure he had fallen asleep, she whispered the words Sherlock longed to hear, her voice breaking. "I love you too."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sherlock and Molly keep tip-toeing around the 'L' word, and they're stubborn as hell. Don't worry, things will start to lighten up in the next chapter! A lot of choices need to be made.


	4. Confessions and Snogging

_Well, here I am again, writing my thoughts online. If you've read my blog before, you'll notice I deleted all prior entries. I'm starting over. Today's topic is romance. Does anyone feel that romance and chivalry has completely died out? I feel that way. Those days appear to be behind us, but oh how I do long for the age of handwritten love letters and courting._

_ People tend to stop everything once they feel they've got you in their grasp, but even now, it seems they never really knew you all that well to begin with. It makes me wonder how I ended up where I'm at today. I'm not delusional; I know that butterflies and the euphoria eventually wears off, but it is quite questionable to me that I feel those things with someone else—I have for the past four years._

Molly stared at the words she had written on her new blog last night. It was over. She hadn't been able to go back to sleep until she woke him up to tell him so. Tom had seemed different lately, turning into a man she hardly knew. For the longest time, she felt he could be a good match for her, but he had become impatient and moody as of late. He stopped trying for the most part, and she had felt as if it were all up to her to keep their relationship on smooth ground. In all honesty, Molly was exhausted from all the effort. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

And that phone call from Sherlock the night before—though amusing—was the straw that broke the camel's back. Her eyes flicked over to the ring that now sat on her desk. Without love, it didn't mean anything. She had always been in love with Sherlock Holmes, and there was no stopping it. She smiled, knowing he loved her too, but would he admit it sober?

Interrupting her thoughts, her phone pinged, alerting her to a message from Greg.

**You busy? –Greg**

** Not in the least. What's going on? –Molly**

** Our consulting detective needs a ride home. Mary's picking up John in a few. – Greg**

** I'll be there. -Molly**

* * *

"My head," Sherlock groaned, holding it in his hands as if it would help. "Aren't you taking me back home, Graham?"

"It's Greg," Lestrade corrected him in annoyance. "And no, the missus will be doing that."

Sherlock's head perked up, his brows furrowed in confusion. "The missus?"

"That'd be me, I suppose." Molly sighed.

Sherlock glanced at her through bleary eyes for a moment, soon covering his eyes with his arm to shield him from the pain of the sunlight streaming through. "C'mon." Molly helped him outside and into the passenger seat of her car. He kept his eyes shut the whole way there.

"So much for not getting ill," she teased as they made their way inside his flat. "Exactly how much did you have to drink last night?"

Sherlock seated himself in his chair, rubbing his temples, praying to a God he didn't believe in to take away the pain. "Please, Molly, I really don't need a lecture right now."

"No cases for you today," she told him, getting a start on the coffee. Sherlock's vision was finally becoming clear again, and he took in her appearance; black boots up to the knee, blue skinny jeans, black and white striped knit jumper, and her hair loose over her shoulders. It wasn't fair.

"What's not fair?" she asked. Oops, he must have said it out loud. _It's now or never_, he thought.

Sherlock approached her as he spoke. "It's not fair that the only person who understands me is promised to someone else; and it's most certainly unfair that you're so bloody gorgeous, and I'm not even allowed to kiss you right now."

Now standing face to face, her back against the counter, she challenged him, her voice coming out huskier than usual. "Then do something about it."

Two hearts pounded furiously together as Sherlock took her in his arms, pressing his lips to hers in frenzied passion. A soft, desperate moan escaped her mouth. Molly slid her hands up from his back into his curls, gripping them just enough to pull him closer. Humming happily against his mouth, Molly relished in the velvet slide of his tongue against hers. All the hard planes of his body felt soft and warm pressed against hers, and oh God, she wanted more.

"More," she moaned in between kisses. His lips left hers, trailing kisses along her jaw, landing on that sweet, sensitive spot just below her ear.

"Molly," he whispered hoarsely, sending shivers down her spine. His hand found hers surprisingly ring-less, sliding his thumb over her ring finger a second time to make sure it was real. She felt him smile against her skin. "I love you." Tears filled her eyes as he tenderly kissed her lips once more. Now, softer than before, he took his time, mapping out what she loved in his mind. He picked her up in his arms, his nose nuzzling hers in the sweetest way, and brought her to the sofa, lying her down upon it, eager to continue.

"Sherlock," she spoke softly, cupping his face in her hands. "I love you too." She brought his head down to hers, her toes curling from the sound of his soft moans and the weight of his body on hers. She giggled when he kissed the tip of her nose, and squirmed impatiently when he kissed the corners of her mouth. "Mmm," she sighed happily as he continued peppering kisses across her skin. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" he hummed below her ear.

"Why didn't you just tell me how you felt before?" she wondered. The long-awaited affection he was giving her made her feel as if she was melting in the most welcome way. It felt like home being with him. He was her home.

He propped himself up to gaze into her warm brown eyes. "Because you're the one person I could never handle being rejected by. I was afraid you had come to your senses; you're mad to want to be with a man like me."

"Perhaps I thrive in the madness of it all," she remarked playfully. "If loving you is mad, I don't wanna be sane." Pulling him toward her once more, she kissed him slowly, pressing her lips, ever so gently, to his. Minutes passed, losing themselves in such beautiful bliss, until their friends' voices broke the spell.

"Well, it's about time."

"Bloody hell, get a room you two."

* * *

**Author's Note:** woo! they're together! but don't worry, there's still an epilogue coming! Did you like how I brought back Molly's blog? I bet the makeout sesh was y'all's fave part ;p


	5. Prologue to a New Beginning

**Thanks y'all for being so patient for the last chapter of Simple Romance! I'm so thrilled I've brought joy with this story!**

* * *

Molly sighed happily, snuggling closer to Sherlock in her sleep. He, however, had been awake for the past two hours. It was currently three in the morning, and the two had danced all night at their friends' wedding reception as if they were the ones who had been married. In four months, they would be husband and wife. Sherlock had proposed to her just four weeks before the wedding, both deciding to keep it under wraps until the Watsons' return from their honeymoon. He smiled as he thought about how it all happened, according to Molly:

* * *

_"Sherlock, I can't seem to find it," Molly called out from his bedroom._

_"Try the nightstand!" he shouted over the running water of the shower._

_Molly dug through his nightstand drawer for his best man speech only to come across an envelope with her name on it. Curious, she picked it up, opening the un-glued flap. Upon slipping the letter out of the envelope, a small item slipped out, bouncing off her thigh. It landed on the floor with a light bounce. She picked up the beautiful vintage ring, mouth agape in wonderment. Her eyes flicked back over to the note in her hands written in his scrawl, and began to read._

**_Dearest Molly,_**

**_Over the past two years, I have dreamt of nobody but you. I had not felt so alone before, but only the thought of getting back to you has kept me going. I realise we may not be able to just pick up where we left off, as I'm sure you haven't put everything on hold until I return, but I hope that your heart is still open to giving me another chance. I'll be home very soon, darling. I simply can't wait to see those warm brown eyes of yours again. I've forgotten the scent that normally surrounds you; I can't conjure it up even though I know what it's made of. _**

**_I find myself dreaming of a life together, silly as it may seem. I would have once thought so, but I know now that I no longer want to live a life of isolation. I need you, my love, and I desperately hope you feel the same. I've often wondered how your lips would feel on mine; I assume soft and deliciously warm. I digress. What I'm trying to say, Molly, is I would very much like to cohabitate with you. No, that's not right. It would be a crime in itself if I didn't confess to you that I would be honoured to call you my wife…if you'll have me? I love you, darling. I even remember the moment I realised it. I've gone and mucked this all up, haven't I? I hope the next time we meet, you'll have an answer for me. If not, that's fine too. I'd wait for you even if it took you until the day before my time here has ended. At least I'd have one day with the only woman I've ever truly loved._**

**_Unconditionally yours,_**

**_William Sherlock Scott Holmes_**

_"Did you find it?" he asked, opening the door to his bedroom. "I'm sure I put it in—"_

_"You were going to propose?" Molly asked, choked up from the sob building in her throat._

_"Yes," Sherlock admitted. "I had planned to send it to you through Mycroft a week before I came home. I never gave it to him."_

_"Why?" she questioned._

_"I was afraid; not only of your rejection, but what danger I might have put you in had you become involved with me." He ran a hand through his damp curls, sitting himself down beside her on the floor. "I would very much like if you still considered my letter, Molly. I still feel the very same way, if not more in love than before."_

_Setting the letter aside, and placing the ring in his palm, she smiled. "Sherlock Holmes." She said his name with such tenderness, caressing the letters with her voice. Placing both hands aside his face, Molly kissed him gently, and whispered against his lips, "ask me."_

_Relieved, he let out a chuckle, noticing for the first time the warmth and love that gleamed in her eyes only for him. "For some reason or other, you've chosen me to hold your heart. And I couldn't feel more honoured than I do in this moment that you are so eager for me to be your husband. I admire your abundant strength and resilient heart, as well as your charm and beautiful mind. You, Molly Hooper, are the most wonderful woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, let alone loving. My love, my darling, will you marry me?"_

_"Oh, Sherlock, yes!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. She kissed every part of his smiling face, saving his lips for last, humming happily against his mouth as he slid the ring on her finger. "I love you." It was whispered as he nuzzled his nose against hers._

_"And I, you."_

* * *

Sherlock kissed his love's bare shoulder, relishing in the feel of her skin against his, remembering how sweetly they had made love those weeks ago.

"Mm," Molly sounded, opening her eyes to find him pressing kisses in her hair. "Can't sleep?"

"This time for a good reason," he replied.

"You know, I was thinking about the signs you pointed out; the ones that confirmed that Mary was pregnant," Molly mentioned to him. "You're good at spotting such things, except you missed an important deduction."

"Oh?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Mhmm." She turned over to face him, taking his hand in hers, and placed it upon her belly. "I'm pregnant too." Immediately she knew he had gone into what John described as buffering mode. "Sherlock?" Molly shook him gently. "Darling, please say something out loud. I know you're probably talking in your head to me, but I need you to snap out of it."

"Move it up," he finally got out. "Molly, we need to move the wedding up."

"That's all you have to say?" she laughed.

"Did I just?"

"Yea, I'm afraid you did." She wasn't upset by any means; only amused.

"This is wonderful! Darling, I can't contain myself! You're sure?" His eyes were alight with excitement.

"Absolutely positive."

"Oh, God, you and Mary will be going through this together, which means—" his eyes widened in horror.

"You two will have your hands full, I'm afraid," she giggled.

"I don't care; It's more than worth it." Sherlock settled his head against her belly, pressing kisses to it, already talking to their unborn child. "Your mummy and daddy will always protect and love you, little one." It warmed her heart, as did the fact he fell asleep with his arm over her stomach, protecting the life growing inside. He was already becoming such a wonderful father to their baby, and she couldn't wait for what lie ahead.

* * *

**Author's Note:** If anyone's trying to figure out the timeline here, the stag night was six weeks before the wedding. The proposal and conception of the baby happened 4 weeks before the wedding for both Sherlolly and Warstan :)


End file.
